


What Happens in Liore

by rkatz



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: I have no excuse for this, M/M, my editing process was reading thru something and going hmmmmm... how do i make this more terrible, warnings for lack of common sense, warnings for lack of dignity, warnings for misuse of office furniture, which i think tells you everything you need to know about this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 07:54:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10301621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rkatz/pseuds/rkatz
Summary: In which Ed returns from his travels looking Super Sexy and Roy Mustang fails to not be an utter teenage girl about it





	

Roy steeples his fingers and looks over the polished surface of his desk at the disgruntled expression of the Fullmetal Alchemist. It's been a few years since he last saw him, but time has done little to alleviate the downward turn of Edward's scowl as he returns Roy's gaze. Then again, Roy's been telling him that he's needed for the diplomatic mission to Liore, and even Roy wants to make a face at that political disaster in the making.

"I know it's not the type of mission you enjoy, but Liore's finally ready to discuss revising their government, and they're insisting that you accompany me during the talks because they trust you." He smirks a little. "'Alchemist of the People' indeed."

"Not an alchemist anymore," Ed reminds him sourly.

There's a knock at the door, and his aide comes in with a new stack of documents. As he's handing the files over, he gives Edward a curious glance.

"That's right, you've never met, have you? Bull, this is Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Fullmetal, Tomas Bull, Hawkeye's assistant. We're putting him through his paces, but so far he's showing promise."

"Thank you, General," Bull says with a cocky smirk. His smile when he looks at Edward is a touch more sincere. "Nice to meet you. Your name comes up a lot in the office. I hear you're a genius at avoiding paperwork. Everyone's very jealous."

"Are they," Edward says sardonically, but he doesn't seem annoyed when he says, "Nice to meet you too."

It's an innocent enough exchange, but later that evening Roy discovers that it's lingered in his mind for some reason. Something had been ... off. Unexpected. Roy frowns and closes his eyes in concentration, trying to put his finger on what it was that didn't fit. There'd been something about Edward's expression. A sharpness to his mouth, a flicker of ... something in his eyes as he'd looked Bull up and down and smirked, like he liked what he saw.

Roy's eyes fly back open. Really?  

The thought doesn't quite want to settle. He's never considered that Edward might be interested in men. No, beyond even that - he's never thought of Edward in the context of sex at all, not even to wonder if it's something Edward is interested in or not. Roy's always put Edward in a box labelled "work," together will all the other things that drive him forward while at the same time they gave him a headache, and he's never had cause to take him out of it.

Well, alright, now he's seen the evidence: Edward Elric likes men. Even with the realization made, though, it's hard to imagine abrasive, defensive Edward Elric lowering his guard enough to get into bed with someone. Is this a recent development? Does Edward seek out sex often? Or is it rhetorical only, still, a thought he allows himself to entertain but not to act on?

Roy shakes his head to dispel those thoughts. What Edward gets up to in his free time is none of his business. More to the point, Edward's still technically his subordinate. Not only is it none of his business, it's downright inappropriate for him to speculate about.

Very well then. He'll put it out of his mind.

+++

The next morning finds him knocking on the door to Alphonse Elric's apartment. He'd been handed a thick file of intelligence reports regarding the upcoming diplomatic mission to Liore at the office late last night, and had spent most of the night reading through it. Now that he's finished, he figures he may as well drop it off directly. Alphonse had returned from his travels in the East last year and joined the university here in Central to study medicine, where, according to Roy's reports, he's been dazzling every one of his professors. Since Roy has no doubt that Ed will be staying with his brother for the duration of his stay, he can check this off his to-do list first thing in the morning and spare Edward the trip to Central Command while he's at it.

Unsurprisingly, it's Alphonse who opens the door.

"Hello, Alphonse."

If Alphonse looks surprised to see him there, at least he doesn't look displeased. "Oh! Hello, General Mustang. Come on in. I suppose you're here to see my brother?"

"You suppose correctly," Roy says, following him into his apartment. It doesn't look much like a place one would expect a university student to live in. The rooms are bright and airy, and full of memorabilia from his travels. Then again, Roy supposes they have more than enough money for a nice place. Or Edward does, in any case.

As soon as they cross the threshold, a tea kettle starts whistling in another room. Alphonse grimaces. "I'll go get that. Ed's in the living room. You might have to wake him up, though - good luck." He grins, showing all his teeth - it's strange, still, to see him in his human form - and hurries off in the direction of the kitchen.

Roy, meanwhile, goes through the door that Alphonse had indicated to find that he's right, and his older brother's still asleep on the couch. Roy spares a second just to look. Edward hasn't grown much taller in the years he's been away, but he's broader, a little, and the sun in Crete must be stronger than it is in Amestris because he'd tanned, too. Early morning sunlight streaming in through the window on the far side of the room turns his straw-blonde hair golden.

Roy's never considered Edward in terms of his appearance before, but ever since his revelation yesterday he feels off-balance, the familiar landscape of their relationship, such as it is, alien to him. Do men find Edward sexually desirable? His first instinct is to say no, of course not - Edward is prickly as a briar bush, and obnoxious beside - but it's different, seeing him relaxed and bathed in early morning sunlight, his oversize white t-shirt rucked up over his stomach from his arms stretched over his head, and the legs of his boxers bunched up as well, revealing the paler skin of his one flesh-and-muscle thigh. Enough of his stomach is visible to show the V of his hips, the thin line of darker blond hair disappearing under the elastic of his boxers. Even in sleep, Edwards mouth is turned downward into a frown. Roy wonders if anyone's ever kissed it.

"I keep telling him he's going to catch cold from sleeping like that," Alphonse sighs from beside him, and it takes more self-control than Roy would like not to jump. "Oi! Brother. Wake up."

Roy takes a seat in the chair on the other side of the coffee table and accepts the mug of tea Alphonse offers him. "It's Xingese. I hope you like it," Alphonse says. With his free hand, he shakes Ed awake. "Wakey, wakey, eggs and ... coffee. Well, just coffee, actually. Or the Xingese tea. If you want eggs you'll have to make them yourself."

Edward yawns hugely and stretches. Roy would have expected him to be the type to go from fast asleep to high alert, maybe even reaching automatically for a firearm. It's how Roy wakes up, himself. But Edward must feel entirely at ease here, in his brother's apartment, with the smell of coffee wafting through, because he doesn't even open his eyes properly, just grumbles as he pushes himself into a sitting  position before dragging Alphonse down by the arm so he can use his shoulder as a pillow.  

Roy brings his coffee to his lips to cover a smirk. Adorable.

"Brother, General Mustang's here to visit," Alphonse says pointedly. Edward's expression goes from one of sleep-muddled confusion, tiny frown line in the V of his eyebrows, to high alert. When he blinks his eyes open and sees Roy seated right across from him he bolts to sit candle-straight so that he's no longer cuddling his brother and demands, "What's he doing here?" It's almost funny. Roy toasts him with his coffee mug.

"Don't be rude," Alphonse says, but Roy waves him off.

"I came to drop off intel about the Liore mission," he says, holding the thick binder he'd brought with him aloft.

"Okay, but why come all the way here in the early goddamn morning for that?"

Roy raises an eyebrow. "It's close to ten, Fullmetal, and your brother's apartment was on my way. Besides, it's been far too long since I was able to visit with Alphonse," he adds, smiling.

Alphonse returns the smile with equal warmth.

"Gross," Edward says, but without any real rancour, and grabs the binder from his hand. The shirt probably belongs to Alphonse, and not to him. Now that he's upright, the collar sags down far past his collarbones, enough to reveal a few strands of fine hair and the edge of the ugly scar from where his arm had been reattached. He seems utterly unselfconscious about his partial nudity.

Roy clears his throat. "Well, that's really all I dropped by for. Thank you for the tea, Alphonse."

"Would you like any breakfast before you leave?"

"No, thank you, I should really head to work. I'll see you later, Fullmetal." There's no response. They both look over to see that Edward has already opened the binder and is lost to the world, gnawing on his lip as he reads.

Alphonse chuckles ruefully. "Well, at least you know he's actually doing his homework this time. It was nice to see you, General."

"Likewise."

Roy puts on his hat and leaves.

+++

That night, he revisits the scene in a dream.

Edward, spread-eagled, clothing in disarray, sunlight from the window painting him with a halo that seems entirely inappropriate, given both Edward's sinful behaviour any given day of the week, and the sinful nature of Roy's thoughts about him at the time.

Edward stretching. Edward's head half-buried in Alphonse's shoulder. This time, rather than bolting awake when Alphonse tells him the General's here to see him, he cracks just one eye open, slowly. The gleam of gold in his eyes sparks as he looks Roy over from head to toe, smirking like he appreciates the view.

Roy goes hot all over.

He's suddenly wide awake. For a moment he just lies there, panting. Blood courses through his veins, too fast and electric.

He really needs to get laid.

+++

General Roy Mustang's known to be a casanova, a ladies' man, to the point almost of parody. It is a parody, really - not that Roy has anything against loving women, per se, and at the end of the day a nice pair of breasts will always make a strong argument for coming down on the side of heterosexuality - but in general, given a choice, Roy goes for men. It's just safer, easier, to flirt with women, builds onto the persona he's constructed for himself rather than challenging perceptions.

Today, though, he leaves the uniform at home and goes out in pants at that are ordinary, if well-tailored, and a plain white shirt that leaves his collarbones bare. The outfit allows for the possibility of anonymity, at least, even if it doesn't guarantee it.

It takes him longer than usual to pick up, because he's being picker than usual. He settles at last for a man whose shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair gives him a poet's air of sensibility. He's too tall, well-mannered and well-spoken, and Roy wishes he was just - more. More sharp of tongue, more opinionated, more aggressive, more unimpressed with Roy's wit and Roy's money. But he shelves those thoughts, and he makes an effort to show the man a good time anyway.

When they're leaving the hotel, Roy's so surprised to see a familiar figure in the lobby that he almost trips over a settee. He considers making a run for it, before remembering that he has nothing to feel guilty about.

"Friend of yours?" his booty call - Charles, his name is Charles - says, when Edward catches sight of him and waves, looking a little put out.

"Something like that," Roy says. He notices Edward looking Charles over as they wander closer and has a moment of panic that the resemblance isn't as passing as he had hoped, but Edward's expression remains bland.

"Friend of yours?" Edward says, an echo of Charles' question earlier.

"Charles Turnpike," Charles introduces himself, and reaches around Roy to shake Edward's hand.

"Pleased to meet you," Edward says, sounding bored. To Roy, he says, "You're not in uniform. Day off?"

"Charles and I were just meeting up to discuss current events," Roy says breezily - vague, but specific enough that Edward will assume Charles is another one of Roy's many informants.

At his side, Charles nods agreeably. He doesn't know who Roy is or why secrecy is necessary, but he's clever enough to go along with what Roy says. It's what drew Roy to him in the first place. Roy likes clever.

"What about you? What are you doing here?" For a moment, Roy wonders if Edward's at this hotel for the same reason he is, and finds the prospect doesn't sit well with him. It turns out, though, that Edward is waiting for Winry, who's in the city to visit Alphonse and him.

As if saying her name has called her, Winry's suddenly bearing down on them. "There you are!" she says, exasperated - and, without preamble, pulls the hair tie right out of Edward's hair.

"What the - Winry!"

"Don't 'Winry' me, I'm all of of hair ties because you keep stealing mine and then losing them!" she says, twisting her hair up into a knot and tying it into place. It's only then that she notices she's interrupted Edward mid-conversation.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Hello Colonel - General, I mean - it's nice to see you again!"

"Likewise," Roy says with a smile.

If Charles is surprised to hear his title he hides it well. "Charles Turnpike," he says, proffering his hand for shaking. "And you must be ... Edward's sister?"

Roy wonders how Winry will take that - there was a time when he'd been half-convinced she was carrying a torch - but she just laughs, looking delighted at Charles' misunderstanding. "As good as," she says. "We grew up together."

"Well, so long as you're not his girlfriend!" Charles says, and proceeds to flirt with her in a manner that's surprisingly convincing, given the enthusiasm with which he'd gone down on Roy just half an hour earlier.

While they talk, Roy looks back over at Edward. Without the tie, his hair falls down far past his shoulders, framing his face. He looks softer this way. Roy notices that Edward's dressed similarly to him, simple pants and a shirt open at the collar. There's a thin chain around his neck that holds an amulet, nestled in the golden skin between his collarbones. The necklace looks expensive and tasteful, which means Edward can't have chosen it for himself. A gift, then. From someone precious to him, or he wouldn't wear it. Alphonse, most likely. He looks good in it. He looks good, period, and every new detail that draws Roy's eyes makes him feel shocky, unbalanced, makes his breath catch in his throat. 

He's drawn out of his thoughts when Edward taps the side of his neck. Roy frowns, wondering if he's pointing out the necklace - then he mirrors the movement, and finds a bloom of pain against the side of his neck. A hickey. Edward has his eyebrows raised. Roy can't help himself from glancing at Charles, irritated that he'd leave such an obvious mark, and Edward's eyebrows rise even higher.

Ah, well. They each have one of the other's secrets, then.

Roy adjusts the collar of his shirt slightly so it hides the worst of the damage and steps between Winry and Charles. "I'm so sorry, Winry, but I'm afraid we have to get going. It was good to see you again. Feel free to stop by the office if you'd like."

"Thank you," Winry said, and waves after them. "It was nice to meet you, Charles!"

Edward doesn't wave. He barely even turns his head enough to watch them go, and with his hair falling in a curtain around his face, his expression is unreadable.

+++

Riza's there on the train ride with them to Liore, because of course she is. Roy doesn't question it until he remembers that means that Bull, as her assistant, will be coming along - at which point a childish part of him wants to insist they replace him with someone else. As Riza points out, however, they're going to need a paper pusher in Liore, and no one pushes stacks of paper around quite like Bull.

So Roy acquiesces, if grudgingly. He only wishes that Ed were equally put off by this turn of events. He's not, though, judging from the quick up-and-down flicker over Bull's (mediocre!) body and accompanying smirk.

Bull preens.

Roy fumes.

The first half of the train ride is spent in tense silence, Roy sulking and Riza looking suspicious. Roy keeps trying to distract himself by starting a discussion about what's awaiting them in Liore, but Ed and Bull are too busy making cow eyes at each other, so no one seems eager to join in. Eventually he subsides and settles back to watch his travel companions.

Or, well. To watch Ed.

A lot must have happened in Crete. Or maybe it's just that Ed grew up while Roy wasn't looking - even the way he sits is different now. There's a masculine grace to the set of his shoulders, even as he twiddles his thumbs in his lap. So much of Ed's posture before had been postur _ing_ , defensive and confrontational, always looking for a fight. He used to be sprawled out and tensed up simultaneously, like part of him was always braced for the next blow.

Now, though - he looks relaxed, confident. When he slouches down a little farther in his seat, Roy finds his gaze drawn inexorably downward. He remembers the flash of creamy skin he'd seen when he visited Alphonse's apartment. Has anyone ever kissed him there? Most of Ed is hard muscle, or even harder metal - it's one of the few places soft enough that it would bruise beautifully. He'd like to see what his thigh looks like covered in bruises.

... And that's crossing a line.

Roy drags his eyes back up, and he notices that it's not just him who's staring. Edward's looking strangely at - or rather, through - Roy.

"See something you like?" Roy says, because he has neither impulse control nor self-preservation instincts.

Ed jumps and shoots him an annoyed glare, like _what the fuck are you talking about?_ Then he must realize he's been staring, and he looks away.

"It's nothing. I'm just used to that being Al's spot, is all."

For the rest of the train ride, he looks out the window and doesn't say anything.

At least he's not looking at Bull anymore.

+++

When they arrive in Liore, there's a pretty girl with pink bangs waiting for them.

"Ed!" she exclaims, and throws her arms around Ed, who bristles initially but then relaxes, patting her ruefully on the back.

"Good to see you, Rose."

"It's good to see you too! You've grown so, um. Tan!"

This time Ed bristles for real. "Hey, I'll have you know I grew a full two centimetres in Crete!"

"Did you?" Rose says, sounding unconvinced. "That's, uh. That's great!"

"I did!" Ed insists.

Bull, half-buried underneath two massive bags, almost knocks over a granny in his eagerness to push himself forward. "You know what they say - it's not about height, it's about having a big ... personality." The pause is just long enough to carry a wealth of innuendo.

"I'm sure you've got a very big personality, Ed," Bull says lasciviously, just to drive his point all the way home and make this extra fucking awkward for everyone else.

Roy shoots Riza an agonized look, hoping she'll return it, but Riza's wearing a look of total focus, which means she's memorizing this conversation to relay in word-perfect detail to the rest of the squad later. From the look of her, she might even do the voices.

Roy expects Ed to shoot Bull a disgusted look and stalk off any second now, but instead Ed stands completely still, looking contemplative. "Yeah. A big ... personality," he says. His smirk grows incrementally wider.

Great. Now Roy's _thinking_ about it.

+++

It's time to switch tactics. He'd decided for the sake of propriety to ignore his attraction to Ed, but it looks like if he doesn't intercede then Ed might have sex with Bull, and he doesn't deserve that; no one does.

They drop their luggage off at a hotel and reconvene in one of the conference rooms for a debriefing session with the lawyers. Roy makes sure his seat is right next to Ed's, and scoots it closer at the pretext of moving towards the table.

Ed looks suspicious, but he does not, Roy notes with satisfaction, move his chair any farther away. Roy wonders if he could get away with putting his arm around Ed's chair, and of course, once he's had the thought, he's determined to make it happen. He has to wait for an opportune moment, but it's not a long wait - just until the stuffy-looking lawyer up front mentions a particular page in the information packet they were all given and Ed unenthusiastically pages it open.

Roy leans forward under the pretext of getting a closer look, and puts his hand on the back of Ed's chair under the pretext of keeping his balance. "Mind if I share?" he asks. His voice is perfectly polite, perfectly innocent, and he pitches his voice so low that it barely stirs the flyaway strands of yellow hair around Ed's temple. Low enough, in fact, that he has to brush his nose almost against the shell of Ed's ear just to be audible.

The Roy Special, he calls it. No one he's ever used it on at a bar hasn't shivered at the proximity and automatically leaned in.

Naturally, Ed being Ed and the most frustrating person Roy's ever met, he does neither of these things. What he does instead, is jump so violently that he almost breaks Roy's nose in the process.

"Fucking hell," Roy hisses, jerking back with a hand cupped around his nose. His eyes water. Ed's staring at him like he would at a viper.

"What the hell was that?!"

"I could ask you the same, Fullmetal," Roy retorts. Jesus, his nose.

Ed is bristling so much Roy half-expects his ponytail to stick out straight behind him like the tail of an angry cat, and his face is flushed a beguiling pink. It's not a colour Roy can recall having seen on him before. When he's really, truly angry or scared he turns white; otherwise, he's liable to go bright red, so much so that you'd think steam might erupt from his ears any second as he bitches you - well, bitches Roy - it's certainly happened often enough - out.

This, though. This is new. Ed's ears are pink; so are his cheeks. He can't quite meet Roy's eyes.

It's at this moment that Roy realizes they have the attention of the entire room.

"So sorry about that, gentlemen. Madames," he says, rising smoothly to his feet in order to sketch a bow at the assembled important personages. "I believe you were explaining about ... what to do about the abandoned church properties?"

Roy and Ed exchange glances like guilty schoolboys as Roy sits back down. Then Ed remembers that he's mad, and looks away again.

Well. That could have gone better.

+++

At team breakfast the next day, Ed shows up wearing a cotton shirt that's open practically to his navel. Roy's not the only person who has to fight not to stare. Even Riza raises an eyebrow.

Eventually even Ed has to notice. He glances down at himself and laughs ruefully, scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. The movement tugs on the material - Roy thinks he might see a nipple. He definitely sees the curvature of well-developed pectorals, and he has to drink deeply from his coffee so that he's at least not openly ogling. When he lowers the cup, Riza's turned her judgmental eyebrow on him.

"Sorry, I guess this is pretty scandalous by Amestrian standards, huh. I got used to wearing it in Crete. They're pretty casual until lunchtime." He shrugs. "It's comfortable."

Before anyone in the company can come up with a response to that, Ed catches sight of the buffet table.

"Are those blueberry pancakes?" he says, darting forward. He doesn't even wait until he's back at the table and digs into his plate while he's still walking, stuffing syrup-soaked blueberry pancakes into his face with a noise that borders on the pornographic.

Roy chokes on his coffee, and he doesn't know if it makes it better or worse that Bull does too.

+++

Riza finds him in his bedroom later that evening. He's not hiding. It's a ... strategic retreat.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Permission not granted. Permission to never speak about anything ever again."

Riza steamrolls on, regardless. "I think you need to get this out of your system."

Roy admits to nothing. "Get what out of my system?"

"I think you should fuck the Fullmetal Alchemist."

Years of carefully-honed battle reflexes mean he's thrown the book at Riza before he's had time to think better of it. Because Riza is at least two times as terrifying as he is, she whips a knife out of her belt and picks the paperback out of the air to pin it against the wall, a fine metaphor for Roy's attempts to resist.

"It's affecting your work performance," she continues, as if nothing's happened.

Roy stares at his book. The cover she's pinned it by tears slowly, losing the fight with gravity, and slides sadly to the floor. Roy supposes Riza is gravity, in this particular metaphor. "I don't want to fuck the Fullmetal Alchemist," he tries. Even to his own ears he's unconvincing.

"Uh-huh," Riza says, unimpressed. "Sir, you've worked too long and too hard to have things fall apart at this critical juncture just because you can't keep it in your pants. All due respect."

"That bad, huh." Roy sighs and rubs his forehead.  

 

Roy hasn't felt like this since he was a teenager. Like if he doesn't have Ed's attention, it's the worst thing in the world. Then as soon as he has it, he feels like he might explode.

Roy buries his head in his arms and groans. "Just tell me honestly, Riza," he says into his elbow. "Is this a midlife crisis? Am I experiencing an early mid-life crisis?"

Riza pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.  

+++

The new plan to seduce Ed and put himself out of his misery flounders as soon as he opens the door to Ed's room and is greeted by the sight of Ed clearly already winding down for the night, hair wet and falling free around his shoulders, dressed in a bright red dressing gown that reminds Roy of the past. Slouched against the doorframe, heels crossed, with a small paperback dangling from one hand, he looks ... louche. He looks delectable.

He looks pissed.

"Can I help you?"

"I think you can," Roy says. He takes a step closer into Ed's space.

Ed glares up at him, gold eyes flashing. Roy swallows and reminds himself that he's got years of experience on Ed, not to mention a well-earned reputation as a flirt. There's no need to feel like a quivering maiden when Ed glares at him like that.

Fortunately he knows that if he doesn't solve this problem, Riza will know. The worst Ed can do is reject him - Riza will literally end his life, and she'll mock him while she does it.

Ah well. Roy's always liked playing with fire. He takes another step, until Ed's pressed practically against the doorframe.

"What the f-"

"Have sex with me."

Ed freezes so completely you'd think there was alchemy involved. "Please," Roy adds, because he wasn't raised in a barn. He waits, heart in his throat.

"You're joking," Ed says finally. The thin line is between his eyebrows again, like an exclamation point, and Roy wants to smooth it away with his finger but he doesn't have Ed's permission yet.

"I assure you that I'm not."

Roy supposes it's a good thing that Ed can't perform alchemy anymore, otherwise Ed might already have transmuted him into a gargoyle. "If you're trying to, to make fun of me, it's not fucking funny-"

"I am incredibly attracted to you, to the point that it's interfering with work," Roy says, all in rush, because maybe it'll be less embarrassing if he gets it all out in the same breath. "Please. Put me out of my misery."

Ed stares at him. Gapes. Goggles. There might be some goggling going on. "You're not joking."

"No."

"Maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation half in the hallway," he finally says, voice faint.

"Good idea," Roy says. He takes his weight off of Ed and follows him into his room, lets the door slam shut behind them - and as soon as the door is closed Ed's pressing his back against it, mouth hot and eager and hard on his.

Ed has to get basically on his tippy toes to reach. Since Roy's having a moment bordering on religious up to and including the angels' choir, he decides not to mention it.

"That was easier than I expected," Roy says, dazed, when they finally part.

Ed grins wolfishly. "What can I say. I'm easy."

Roy runs his tongue along his bottom lip. There's a flare of pain from where Ed bit him. "Well," he says. "Lucky me."

+++

Riza was right, that was exactly what he needed. He's on fire after that. In fact, he's so viciously competent while at the same time being in viciously high spirits that everyone else from the Central side starts to hate him. Bull looks hunted every time Roy bears down on him with a beatific smile, having declared Bull his new protege, and hounds him with a stream of jovial, completely impossible requests. It's the most fun Roy's had in ages. Barring nightly activities with Ed, of course.

That's not to say the Liore case is easy. The religious fanatics remain a small, but vocal contingent. There's another party that, while not as batshit crazy as the fanatics, still fears that a new regime will mean the eradication of their religion - and with right, because yet another faction is campaigning for precisely that. Among the negotiators from the state, there are those who want to ignore the religious factor completely, and they're popular among a small segment of the Liore side, but alienate all the others.

Roy sits in on every meeting. The lawyers from their side are brilliant, but Liore is wary, and rightfully so. Roy's role is minor, since at the end of the day he's nothing more than a dog of the military, if a high-ranking one, and in any case much of the details of the Homunculi Incident remain classified. Roy can hardly tell them how close they came to being ingredients of a Philosopher's Stone, even if that would shut the fanatics up. Still, though, it's important that he be seen. That when he becomes Führer, people remember that he played a part in negotiating Liore's reintegration into the state.

So he sits in on the meetings, and he listens, and he waits.

+++

On the third day they bring in Ed. He's brilliant.

A speaker from the Liore side starts. Right off the bat he brings out the big guns, hoping to shock their side into defensiveness, by saying, "To put not too fine of a point on it, what all this boils down to is that we don't trust the government."

It doesn't have quite the intended effect. Ed snorts. "Yeah, well I don't blame you. I don't trust the government either. You think a bunch of religious nuts are gonna be better?"

Things go swimmingly after that.

At the end of the day, Roy snaps his notepad shut and stands up. It's the type of moment he lives for: a moment balanced precariously on a knife-point of uncertainly, all eyes on him. All he has to do is smile, and they hand him control of their future without even realizing it. "Gentlemen. Madames. I believe we have an agreement?"

+++

Ed finds him in his office.

Roy hadn't been expecting company. He's a little bit embarrassed - he prides himself on his polished appearance, and by his usual standards he looks downright slovenly, his shirtsleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows, his cravat lose, hair messy from all the times he ran his hands through it. He's not even wearing shoes.

Of course, trust Ed not to notice things like that. His eyes barely even flicker over Roy's bare wrists before he visibly dismisses them and turns to the matter at hand. "The orphanages are going to need a lot of financing for the next few years. Rose was just talking to me about it."

"On it," Roy says, and turns over the file he's been leafing through, which reads, _Budgeting Proposals for the War Orphans of Liore_. "You can tell your friend orphanages are first on the priority list."

"Oh," Ed says, his eyes skimming briefly over the text. "That's good." He doesn't leave, though, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Roy's about to ask if he had anything else he wanted to ask about when Ed nods firmly to himself like he's reached a decision and climbs right into Roy's lap.

Oh. Well this is a welcome development. Roy grabs two handfuls of Ed's glorious ass, because it's right there and he'd be a fool not to. Ed groans approvingly, and the passing thought Roy has about how there's a line, and having sex on the desk in an office that isn't even your own while on an important diplomatic mission is likely crossing it, flies right out the window.

After all, he reasons, standing up with his hands still around Ed (his back protests immediately - he had forgotten that, with the automail leg, Ed is much heavier than a man his size would be ordinarily) and shoves him backward, seen from a different angle, the desk is such good craftsmanship that it would be a shame not to test it out.

"Son of a bitch," Ed says. Coming from him, it sounds almost like a compliment. He writhes like a cat, canting his hips upward, desperate for friction, and before Roy's had time to think it through he's grabbing both of Ed's knees and shoved them apart so he can nose at the fabric tenting at the crotch of Ed's pants.

Ed keens and twists his fingers painfully in Roy's hair, shoving his mouth right where he wants it with nary a thought for such paltry things as, for example, Roy's comfort, the state of his pants, or anyone still in the office who might potentially overhear.

Sputtering, Roy pushes himself back up. "Trust me when I tell you that fabric does not taste anywhere near as good as you seem to think," he says.

"Gee, let me think really hard, I wonder how we could solve that problem -" Ed says, rolling his eyes. And his hips, looking for friction. It's a wonder he can dredge up the presence of mind to be sarcastic when he's clearly so turned on. Ed's yellow hair is already escaping the confines of its ponytail, and there's a rising flush working its way up his face. He's wearing a waistcoat but at some point Roy must have torn the buttons off of his shirt, and the hickeys from last time are visible underneath. A pretty picture, all in all, and the obscene bulge at the front of his now spit-slicked pants completes it.

When Roy doesn't make a move right away, too caught up in enjoying the view, Ed clicks his tongue and gets to work himself. "Don't mind me, old man. If you can't keep up I'll just take care of this myself," he says, unbuttoning his pants.

"How considerate of you. I wouldn't want to do anything to aggravate the arthritis. Such a terrible thing, old age." Roy slides his head down until he has a view of Ed pulling himself out of his pants only bare centimetres away. Ed's dick twitches at the proximity.

Very deliberately, Roy licks his lips. And then schools his face into an expression of innocence. "I'll just watch then, shall I?"

After enduring a lecture about his moral character (questionable), his paternity (even more questionable), a hurtful aside about his hair (stupid), and other, superior uses for his wiseass mouth (do I really have to spell it out, you bastard?), Roy finally concedes to seal his lips around the head of Ed's prick. This elicits a strangled gasp, and Ed's hands scramble gratifyingly for purchase against his shoulders - still, Roy thinks he's justified in giving Ed a hard time, particularly after the aspersions cast upon his hair. So he plays deliberately stupid, teasing with his lips and tongue when Ed wants him to go deep, pulling off and asking stupid questions whenever Ed gets close.

"Is this right? It is so very hard to keep up with what you youngsters are into these days."

"I swear to fucking God, Mustang, you are the most infuriating -"

"What was that?" Roy says, squeezing his hands around Ed's shaft and then taking them completely off. "I'm afraid I left the hearing aids at home."

By the time he finally lets Ed come he's close to tears, breathing in small, hiccupy gasps, and gratifyingly eager to tell Roy anything he wants to hear. Who knew that all it took to tame the Fullmetal Alchemist was the threat of withholding orgasm? "Yes - just like that - you're so good at this - Oh _god_ , Mustang, right there, right there!"

They take five minutes to regain their breath, another five for Ed to cuss Roy out and repudiate anything he may or may not have said in the heat of the moment, and then they go at it again.

+++

An indeterminate amount of time later, Ed's seated on the desk in nothing but underwear, rebraiding his hair. There are scratches on his back, but Roy's more worried about the scratch on the desk - a deep gouge nearly a foot long, no doubt from Ed's automail, runs through the polished varnish. Roy doesn't remember how it got there, but he does know that there's no way to get it out. Ed might have been able to do it, back when he could still do alchemy, but all Roy's alchemy would be good for is lighting the desk on fire. Maybe not a terrible idea, actually, given how suspiciously sticky the surface of it is.

He's drawn out of his morose contemplation of the scratch by Ed tossing his hair, newly braided, over his shoulder and saying, "So we'll be leaving Liore tomorrow already?"

"Yes. The contract was negotiated much faster than anticipated, thanks to you." He smiled. "And to think you didn't even want to come."

Ed doesn't appear to be listening, however. He just nods distantly, eyes focussed elsewhere, and hops off the desk to retrieve his clothes from the floor.

"So that's it then?"

Roy's distracted by the view when Ed bends over to pick up his shirt, so at first he doesn't hear what Ed says. Then the words sink in. He frowns. "What's it?"

Ed straightens. "You know. This whole thing. You. Me." He gestures vaguely.

Roy opens his mouth to say of course not, but the words stick in his throat. Isn't it, though?

Tomorrow they ride back to Central, having defused a highly sensitive political situation days before anyone expected them back. Roy's name will be attached to the Liore negotiation as the official in charge; he knows that from now on the higher-ups will be keeping an eye on him. Now is his moment in the spotlight - the time for him to demonstrate that he excels at his job, and can be trusted with even bigger, more sensitive missions. Not the time to be caught in an affair with a man who is technically still his subordinate, no matter how enticing.

Ed watches these thoughts play out over Roy's features. When Roy finally brings himself to return his gaze, apology on his lips, Ed waves it away.

"I figured as much," he says. His clothes are back on - for a moment he fumbles with the cuffs, before giving them up as too much bother. His torn shirt makes it obvious what he's been up to, but this, too, he dismisses this with a quick flicker of his eyes.

"Whatever. It was fun. See you later," he calls over his shoulder, then he tosses his jacket over his shoulder and leaves.

Roy watches him go and feels like he’s missing something.

+++

His mind, probably, is what he decides after a full week has gone by he still can’t let the incident go.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asks Riza, showing her his notebook filled, not with notes, but with half-hearted doodles. This is unacceptable. While Roy had accepted that productivity comes in cycles earlier on in his his career, he’s worked hard over the years to develop disciplined work habits to ensure that he at least makes progress, even on days when he’s not at his best. Idleness isn’t an option for a Führer. It isn’t an option for a man aiming for the position in the future, either, especially not right now, when he’s supposed to be dazzling all the senior politicians.

Riza sighs. “You’re pining.”

“Pining?”

“Like a conifer, sir.”

Roy let’s the notebook fall. Impossible. Pining? Him? Roy is a soldier, a strategist, _and_ a scientist: for all his life, in every aspect of his life, his head has always trumped his heart.

A small corner of him has to wonder, though, why then he’s spent the past week looking for a flash of golden hair or the spark of angry golden eyes in the corner of his vision. Why he’d picked the file labelled “Edward Elric” first from the stack of progress reports, and felt a stab of something akin to disappointment when he realized that Ed did not seem to be having any of the same problems with productivity that he did. Why the doodles in his notebook seemed sometimes to resemble that awful snake-and-cross design from the ubiquitous red coat Ed had worn in the past.

Why he’d woken up that morning, as he had every morning before, covered in sweat and aching from the last threads of a dream of scarred, sweat-slicked skin.

Riza sighs. “I might have miscalculated when I told you to pursue this thing with Elric. On the other hand,” and here she fixes him with a steely glare, “you should have told me from the beginning that you were in love with him.”

Roy stares at her, aghast.

The moment of existential terror is broken by Havoc, calling across the bullpen. “Permission to take bets on whether or not you survive asking the brat out on a date, sir?”

“Permission NOT granted!”

+++

That night he sits in his sparsely furnished living room with only a bottle of scotch for company and considers his options.

Roy will be Führer one day. It's not a question of if, but when. The leader of the nation needs to attach himself to someone suitable. A woman, for one, preferably someone with aristocratic ties, someone to have a beautiful Amestrian child with. Roy still remembers the national rejoicing when King Bradley had married his wife. "Mother of the Nation," they'd called her. The marriage had humanized him. A fierce warrior and sharp political mind, yes, but also a doting husband and later a doting father. Before his marriage, Bradley had had the people's respect. He'd had their adoration, after.

In many ways King Bradley is not, for obvious reasons, a model he wants to imitate, but Roy’s always thought that Mrs. Bradley was the one thing that Mr. Bradley truly got right.

But in any case, Roy reminds himself, isn’t it absurd to be weighing a marriage against a fling in the first place? It’s not like he’s going to marry Ed.

Roy stares at the amber liquid at the bottom of the bottle and realizes, with dawning horror, that he very much wants to marry Ed.

+++

He has confused dreams of himself as Führer introducing Ed, in a princess dress and absolutely livid about it, as his bride, and wakes up hungover.

He allows himself ten minutes to stare up at the ceiling and mope. Ed as his spouse - how would that even work? Ed’s only just returned to Amestris, and Roy’s not fool enough to think he’s here to stay. He wouldn’t want him to stay - Ed’s greatest genius is that he takes all the shit the world spews at him and spins it into gold, through equal parts pigheadedness, compassion, and blind faith in his own abilities. Locked up in a lab or a library somewhere nearby and safe, he’d sour like spoilt milk.

So they’d see each other maybe once or twice a year, if that. He’d probably forget to write, or write notes as short and cryptic as his mission reports; given his current track record, half the times Roy saw him would probably be to bail him out of jail.

It’s not an appropriate relationship for the leader of a nation, nor is it the type of future anyone would want for themselves. And if there’s a small part of him that thinks maybe that he _does_ want that, actually, well - he’s determined to ignore it.

+++

That determination lasts right up until he sees Ed rushing down the hallway of Central Comment with an absent frown on his face, and then promptly crumbles into dust.

He’s raised his voice before he’s even aware of it. “Fullmetal!”

Ed turns around. There are day-old coffee stains on his waistcoat, a sure sign that he’s been overworking himself, and his gold eyes are wary.

Roy wants him. Wants all of him, the jagged edges and the inconveniences and the inevitable heartbreaks, and damn the consequences. When has he ever made compromises in pursuit of his goals? Hell, when have the _Elrics?_ They’re the world’s leading experts on making the rules up as they go.

“Yes?” Ed asks, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?” he says pleasantly.

He’ll take Havoc’s bet. If he’s lucky, then he’ll be taking Ed to dinner tonight, and then he’d like to take him to bed. Eventually Ed’s going to figure out that Roy’s been playing a long game this whole time, but by that time Roy fully intends for it to be too late: Ed will have fallen for him as deeply and as completely as he has for Ed. After all, Roy reckons with at least three years before he notices - plenty of time to stack the deck in his favour, and everyone who knows him knows that Roy doesn’t play fair. He plays to win.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> my tumblr is @rkatz-rkatz if you want to come say hi


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